Crazy, but that's how it goes
by Cracon
Summary: People wake up in their significant other's body all the time. Right? There are whole movies about this. - Faberry, g!p/g!peen/futanari, whatever you call it, college AU


**Title:** Crazy, but that's how it goes  
**Author:** cracon  
**Rating:** R / Mature  
**Spoilers**: none, I think  
**Summary:** People wake up in their significant other's body all the time. Right? There are whole movies about this.  
**A/N:** Nothing good comes from talking about g!p on tumblr. Title from Ozzy Osbourne's "Crazy Train" (but you probably knew that already. Of course you did)  
Thanks to Poetz for providing me with a reason why a body switch could happen.  
**A/N 2:** Written for Faberry Week 2013 Day 5 "Body Switch"

This fic is set in a verse that I'm currently writing but that's not finished and posted yet. All you need to know about that is that it's going to be a somewhat angsty college AU fic with g!p Quinn, and all the angsting about the g!p and everything related to it will happen there. But at the point THIS fic is set in, we have established!Faberry, who are still in college, and it's not angsty but fluffy, funny (hopefully) and full of bickering. (A couple that bickers together stays together.) And also cracky. After all, this is a body switch fic. This is a bit backwards, trust me, I know, but you know how muses and their ideas are. I promise that this fic totally works as a stand-alone story.

* * *

Nature, Rachel decides, is decidedly cruel this morning.

Or maybe she shouldn't have gotten that fifth Cosmopolitan last night when she went out to party with her friends and her girlfriend to celebrate the fact that finals week was finally over.

The mere thought of Quinn makes her smile, but only for a split-second before a throbbing headache sets in that almost makes her stomach churn. Speaking of stomach, it feels like her period is going to come early. Outstanding.

Water. Water will be a great idea, she thinks, and maybe an Aspirin, or two, or three-hundred, and some Tylenol. She slowly slides out of bed, her eyes closed to not make the nausea worse. Her head is already spinning enough without vision. And maybe if she keeps her eyes closed as long as possible she can convince her body to go back to sleep afterwards, because her biological clock tells her that it can't be earlier than eight in the morning. Thankfully she knows the layout of her dorm room by heart, so navigating it blindly is absolutely no problem at all.

She winces when her right foot hits the doorframe of the bathroom door and her left kicks against a wall. The doorway must have moved in her sleep.

Okay, so maybe coordination is a little bit off, that's to be expected after a night of reckless drinking. She still has no idea how Santana got all of them those fake IDs, but it's not like anybody was complaining at the time. And she didn't dare ask, out of fear that Santana might reveal ties to the Mexican Mafia, or something. She doesn't know Santana's life. She only mentioned "having connections," and who knows what that means in Santana Lopez speak.

Rachel opens the bathroom door with little difficulty and manages to hold onto the sink for dear life, turning the faucet on and pretty much holding her whole head underneath it, drinking straight from it. Hangovers don't need superficial things like water glasses. She reaches up with one hand and opens the cabinet, reaching for the little box of Aspirin. Bottom right, that's where it always is.

Except her roommate must have moved it because there is nothing there for her fingers to grasp.

She sighs and turns the faucet off. Damn, now she'll have to open her eyes after all and going back to sleep will be more difficult now. She frowns when she can't find the towel at its place next to the sink and decides to have a serious talk with her roommate about moving stuff around without asking first. Later. Now, painkillers.

She slowly straightens up, mindful of her still pounding head, although the cold water helped a little bit. Once upright she squints at the cabinet. She is going to kill her roommate. All their stuff, her stuff!, is gone and she is this close to killing Santana in her sleep for once again going through her things unasked.

She huffs and slams the cabinet shut in irritation.

What she sees in the mirror makes her almost have a heart attack.

She can only hope that her scream didn't wake up the whole dormitory.

…

Okay. Okay, there has to be a rational explanation for this. No need to hyperventilate. People wake up in their significant other's body all the time. Right? There are whole movies about this. This counts as a Freaky Friday-esque situation even if they didn't went to a Chinese restaurant the day before, right?

Well, at least she doesn't have a roommate to worry about. But only because it looks like Quinn's roommate didn't even come home last night.

"Okay," Rachel says out loud, and it is completely unsettling to hear her girlfriend's tremulous alto instead of her own voice. Wait, does Quinn even have perfect pitch? Can she even sing? This is unacceptable. Rachel Berry will not be stuck in a body that hasn't been primed for musical perfection. This situation will have to be remedied as soon as possible. She reaches for her phone, well, Quinn's phone, ready to call Quinn … well, herself, to get to the bottom of this, when the throbbing in her lower stomach makes itself known again.

She looks down and almost does a double-take at the bulge she sees under the boxer briefs before she remembers, right, Quinn isn't like most girls and has probably dealt with the inconvenience of morning wood for half of her life. And now that the shock of being in another body has slightly worn off, her body, Quinn's body, apparently redirects all of her intellectual priorities to what is currently happening towards her groin.

Rachel is conflicted. Does it count as masturbation when you're in your girlfriend's body, touching said body? Or is it sex? Or is it just a pretty invasive violation of her girlfriend's privacy and her right of deciding what she does with her body? And shouldn't she be calling Quinn right now to make this whole situation go away as quickly as possible?

Or should she maybe take it as an opportunity to learn more about her girlfriend's body?

Well, whatever she is categorising it as in her head later, she is certain of one thing: She can't go out of this dorm room with an erection that has the possibility of destroying Quinn's whole life at NYU.

She closes the bathroom door behind her, wondering where Quinn keeps her stash of lube and wondering if seeing Quinn's naked body will be enough to get her off, because it works for her all the time, or if this body is focused on her and she'll have to concentrate on her own body.

Which is just all kinds of weird and slowly making her headache reappear.

…

Forty-five minutes later, and definitely more relaxed than before and now with Quinn's compression shorts on, Rachel is on her way to her girlfriend, passing random people in the hallways that wave at her, no, at Quinn, and she only gives them a tight smile and a small wave and hurries along so that they don't stop her for a conversation. She's standing in front of her own dorm room now and bangs her fist against the door.

"Quinn," she hisses, before she remembers that talking to oneself is frowned upon in most societies. "Rachel! Come on, open the door!"

There's shuffling on the other side of the door, like someone has been waiting for her to arrive for hours, and then the door is quickly being pulled open.

"Wow," Quinn says, in Rachel's body. "Either I'm just tall or you're smaller than I thought."

Rachel squints at her before making her way into the room and locks the door behind her. "Where's Santana?"

"Oh, she hasn't been here all morning, so she's probably still at whoever-she-managed-to-hook-up-with-last-night's place."

Rachel sighs in relief. "Good, that's good. Your roommate wasn't there when I woke up, either. Although I'm afraid that your whole building now knows that you scream rather girlishly."

"Well, considering that I _am_ a girl, I don't see why that should offend me," Quinn says, setting both of her fists on her hips and, yeah, okay, Rachel makes a note to tone that down in the future.

"That's not what I meant. I meant, ugh, I don't know what I meant!" Rachel says, throwing her arms over her head. "I have no idea how we even got in this situation."

"Like that's my fault?" Quinn says, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'm not saying that. I'm just trying to make sense of this. It defies absolutely all logic, and my only reference points for this are movies. And we didn't do any of the stuff that is popular in those. We didn't go to an Asian restaurant where an old person could've meddled with us; we didn't have a screaming match or some other differences so that some deity decided to help us see our way in each other's bodies; I'm pretty sure we didn't end up in a coma so that this could all be in our head. And I'm pretty sure we're awake and not dreaming right now. Although, to be perfectly honest with you, the last scenario is still my preferred one, because it means I'd be able to wake up from this at one point. Your body is very distracting."

Quinn raises one eyebrow. "Welcome to my life, Rachel. And it's not like I'm having an easy time here."

"That's true, however, I'm fairly certain that my body's arousal is not as painfully obvious as yours."

"Why, Rachel Berry," Quinn drawls, stepping nearer to her girlfriend and smirks at her, and, wow, talk about a weird experience. There's a shiver going down her spine and Rachel decides that, yes, judging by the situation slowly, and uncomfortably due to the tightness, arising in her underwear, it's safe to say that Quinn's body has definitely zeroed in on her own.

"Stop it," Rachel says, stepping away from Quinn, making the girl giggle when she puts her hands in front of where her crotch is under the dress.

"Like I said, welcome to my life."

Rachel sighs and sits down on her bed, flopping backwards in defeat. "Okay. What do we do about this? How did we even get into this? I only remember drinking last night. A lot. So much that it makes me seriously wonder how I'm still alive now. That reminds me, you need to restock on your Aspirin."

"Noted," Quinn says, lying down next to her. "And I have absolutely no idea. I know that we celebrated the end of finals week with a lot of well-deserved booze, but I don't even remember how I, or, well, you, got back to the dorm room."

Rachel hums, pulling Quinn closer against her.

"Maybe it's divine intervention," she says, deep in thought.

"Divine intervention for what?" Quinn asks, propping herself up on her elbow to look down at Rachel. "As far as I know we did nothing to warrant such a thing, if we even believed in that."

"Okay, okay," Rachel sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose in thought. "Let's just forget about how this happened for now, because we can't change anything anyway. Let's focus on how we can make this go away instead."

"But if we don't know how it happened, how can we make it go away? And if we're both in a coma and dreaming this up, we can't exactly decide to just wake up."

"Ugh, this is so frustrating," Rachel says, slamming one palm on the bedspread in exasperation. "Are we able to trace back yesterday's step? Maybe there'll be a hint there?"

"Worth a shot," Quinn says, already trying to recollect the last day. "Okay, so I got up at eight and exercised, then I showered and got something to eat."

"Ditto," Rachel says. "Only I started two hours earlier."

"That's crazy."

"Maybe you're just lazy."

"I studied until two, don't give me that attitude," Quinn says, pinching Rachel under her arm, where she just _knows_ it hurts the most.

"Okay, okay. I apologise. So, after breakfast I had some last minute cramming and then I had my last two exams for the semester."

"Ditto."

"Okay. Uhm, what then?"

"My head feels like the drinking and partying started immediately after I answered the last sentence on that paper."

"Yeah, but I know that is now what happened. I know that we celebrated _privately_ at first before Santana dragged us out to a bar."

"Celebrating privately is such a nice choice of words for describing that we had sex and fucked like bunnies for hours."

Rachel glares at Quinn, but it only serves to make her girlfriend smirk at her.

"Moving on. What happened at that bar?"

"I remember drinking a Long Island Iced Tea. Or a dozen. The details are a bit hazy after the first one, I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. Unless we count—"

"Don't even say it."

Quinn's smirk deepens. "Okay, so I only remember Santana getting us into the bar with fake IDs and then drinking a lot."

"This means that we both have absolutely no idea what happened in that bar."

Quinn shrugs. "Seems like it."

"Why do I have a feeling that Santana is partially responsible for what happened to us?"

"I guess that's just Santana's personality."

Rachel sighs. Her roommate/friend really is a handful. "Okay, so I guess we'll find her to fill in the blanks?"

"What if the solution is something totally simple?" Quinn questions, moving to straddle Rachel's hips and beginning to grind against her.

Rachel swallows. How could she not have noticed that Quinn is only wearing a tanktop and booty shorts? Rachel really needs to rethink her sleeping attire.

"This is weird," Rachel says, grabbing Quinn's hips to try to keep her still. Quinn raises one eyebrow at that.

"And you had no qualms about jacking off earlier in my body?"

"I had a lot of issues with that, to be honest, and I still have questions. Was it masturbation or sex? Did I violate your body or not, because you weren't exactly around to give consent." Rachel frowns. "I think my headache is coming back."

"Okay, first of all," Quinn begins, tugging the tank top off of her, Rachel's eyes widening when she starts playing with her, well, technically Rachel's, breasts. "There's no need to feel guilty about doing what you did, because guess what I did until you got here." Rachel's eyes widen even more when one hand slowly glides down her stomach and disappears in the front of the red booty shorts, the movement of her hand clearly visible underneath the fabric. "Secondly, I'll count it as masturbation and as an opportunity to get to know my girlfriend's body better." Rachel vaguely wonders how it is possible that she hasn't come prematurely yet. Quinn's body must have more stamina than she previously thought possible. "And thirdly," Quinn drawls, leaning forward on one hand, the movement of the hand in the shorts never ceasing, "Why aren't you naked yet?" She smirks.

"Isn't this remotely weird for you?" Rachel asks shakily when she manages to get out from underneath Quinn and opens the buttons on the front of the white dress before pushing it down her body. The bra and compression shorts are gone seconds later and Rachel sighs a bit when the uncomfortable pressure on her, Quinn's, straining cock is gone and she is now standing next to her dorm bed in only a pair of obviously bulging green boxer briefs.

"I think you're overthinking this," Quinn says, pushing the booty shorts off before settling down naked on the small bed.

"Am I, really?" Rachel deadpans, kneeling on the edge of the bed. But Quinn only shakes her head, pointing at the underwear. Rachel sighs again and pushes it down before finally straddling Quinn's thighs, leaning down for a kiss. "I still think it's weird," she mumbles when they break for air.

She inhales sharply through her nose when Quinn reaches down and gently tugs at her penis, making all of her nerve endings short-circuit and her hips roll forward, chasing her girlfriend's hand.

"Slow down, cowboy," Quinn says mirthfully, her other hand already searching for the lube they keep in Rachel's nightstand, applying some to the palm of her hand and reaching down again.

And, oh yeah, that's definitely better, Rachel thinks, her hips moving in tandem with Quinn's hand that is twisting a little every now and then before completely focusing on the tip again; only for the process to repeat while also trying to focus on the kissing that is happening. Surprisingly enough her orgasm arrives a lot quicker than it did in her earlier bathroom session, where she showered and tried to make her problem go away as quick as possible to move on with the day. When she feels another hand softly cupping and scratching the sensitive skin of her testicles Rachel gasps out Quinn's name, but before she can warn her the damage is already done and she has come all over her girlfriend's hand and stomach.

"I'm so sorry," she pants, her head bowed down in shame.

"Well, I'd say that was embarrassingly quick, but I know exactly what it's like to be on the other side of it. Not so fun now, is it?" Quinn drawls mischievously, her hand still gently moving on the softening penis. Rachel shakes her head, trying to get her breathing back to normal while she feels the sweat on her body cool down.

"Why am I the only one thinking this is weird?" Rachel asks, still out of breath while she watches Quinn's moving hand. "I mean, god, technically I'm about to have sex with myself, and not in a masturbation-y way. I never thought this is a sentence I'd ever have to think about in my whole life."

"The way I see it," Quinn says, finally relenting and letting Rachel go, her right index finger swirling through the mess Rachel made on her stomach, "It's still the two of us. We were girlfriends before and we're still girlfriends now, except for a slight change." Quinn focuses on her own finger then, humming before drawing it into her mouth and sucking it clean and damnit, Rachel shouldn't find this as arousing and mesmerizing as she currently does, because she does that all the time. Maybe that's the reason why Quinn's body is enjoying the view right now, and also the smirk her girlfriend is giving her. "We would've had a lot of fun today anyway, and we're still going to have a lot of fun with each other, no matter if you're in my brain or not. And I promise that at one point I'll let you out of bed for food and to track Santana down."

"So you think I should maybe treat this as an acting exercise?" Rachel asks, feeling the stirrings of arousal making themselves known in her stomach again.

Quinn snorts. "Well, I know from experience that there isn't a single molecule in my body that is capable of acting when you're around and I have absolutely no idea how this could further your acting talent, but sure, why not, if that helps you sleep at night."

Rachel nods in agreement before moving off Quinn, reaching for two of the throw pillows at the top of her bed.

"Where are you going?" Quinn asks, propping herself up on her elbows. "We're not finished here."

"I agree," Rachel says, dropping the pillows on the ground before moving to kneel on them, pulling Quinn nearer to the edge of the bed by her knees and hoisting Quinn's legs over her shoulders. "I apologise in advance. You know that you were my first, so I didn't actually have a chance to practise this somewhere. But I promise you that what I lack in technique I'll make up for in enthusiasm," is her only warning before she leans in. By the desperate way Quinn's hands are gripping onto her head and her heels digging into her back with the licking and sucking she's doing she'd say she's doing _something_ right. She tries to remember what Quinn is normally doing to her when the roles are reversed, but she also has the advantage of knowing her own masturbation technique that gets her off fairly quickly; after having only lasted for what feels like barely five minutes before, Rachel thinks it's only fair that her girlfriend should have a similar experience when she brings her fingers into the equation.

She holds Quinn's hips down with one forearm before delivering her coups de grâce, Quinn's back bowing when she moans her release. Quinn's thighs relax from around her head and fall down weakly on either side of Rachel. Rachel busies herself with lapping at Quinn's centre (technically her own, but she's done thinking about that for now. They're Rachel and Quinn and that's all that matters), moving upwards to clean up her own mess she made earlier so that there isn't too much left to get on the bed. She hasn't done the laundry in a while, being distracted by studying and her girlfriend and all, so her spare bed sheets are in the laundry hamper. Quinn is still panting when she settles down next to her on the bed, turning her head around for a kiss, making Quinn moan at their combined taste.

"Everything okay there?" Rachel asks when her girlfriend's eyes are still closed minutes later.

"Yes," Quinn says, her breathing mostly back to normal. "I'm trying to make up an evaluation for you in my head, but seeing as this was my first orgasm in this body, I have a little trouble with that."

Now it's Rachel's turn to smirk. "That good?"

"You sound far too pleased for your own good," Quinn says, turning on her side to face her girlfriend. "I'm just saying that I don't have a frame of reference." She glances down Rachel's body, technically her own, smiling smugly at what has already risen to the occasion. "Maybe we should remedy that."

"I have a feeling that we won't be leaving this room all day if we're starting with that."

"Maybe," Quinn muses, apparently having no problem with that when her fingers trail down her girlfriend's chest. "I don't think there's anything wrong with that. And maybe having sex is the solution for our situation." She leans closer, nibbling on Rachel's earlobe. "Do you think I'd enjoy blowing myself?" She whispers into her girlfriend's ear.

"Oh god."

"You may call me Quinn."

…

It's afternoon when they finally decide to get a quick shower and to get dressed, and Rachel also decides that her sheets are effectively ruined. Quinn thoroughly enjoyed having the opportunity to experience multiple orgasms, and Rachel came to the conclusion that the stamina of Quinn's body is something she should be celebrating—having so many orgasms in such a relatively short time while also not coming too early (after that first time, that is) is something her girlfriend apparently works on in her spare time when Rachel isn't around. And if it weren't for Rachel demanding that they'd get to the bottom of this … body switch thing that is going on, they'd be still at it in her dorm room, only having the occasional break for water and the granola bar stash Rachel has in one of her drawers.

"Stop it," Rachel admonishes Quinn when the girl hugs her from behind where she is sitting on the bed, nipping at the skin of her neck while also rubbing her stomach through the thin fabric of the dress. It's distracting and also making calling Santana a lot more difficult than she expected.

"I just can't stop touching you," Quinn murmurs, nipping at Rachel's ear.

"I noticed," Rachel whimpers when Quinn's hands slide upwards to cup her breasts and her nerves there seem to have a direct connection to her crotch. "And I promise you we'll continue once we have found a solution to our problem."

Quinn hums. "More like a blessing in disguise, but I'll hold you to that. I love spring break," she says, finally relenting. "Nothing to do but doing you all day."

"Okay," Rachel breathes, dialling Santana's number with shaking fingers.

It rings ten times before she answers. "This better be important, dwarf. You're interrupting my mack time."

"Santana, something has happened," Rachel says as she puts her on speaker.

There's a pause on the other end of the line. "Quinn?" Santana sounds alarmed now. "Why are you calling me from Rachel's phone? What has happened? Is she in the hospital?!"

Her voice and obvious panic rises with every word and Rachel wants to slap herself for how she worded her sentence and also for the fact that she didn't have the foresight to have Quinn call Santana, who is looking mildly amused next to her. Although it warms her heart that underneath the crass exterior of Santana Lopez there is a friend who cares about her.

"No, Santana! Everything is fine, we're both alive, well and healthy."

"Dios mio, never scare me like that again."

"But something has happened, Santana, and we need your help."

"Broke or strained something during a kinky sex position and need a ride to the hospital now? I knew it, it's always the quiet ones."

Rachel blushes and next to her Quinn smirks, because with the stuff that happened earlier that could've been a likely scenario if it weren't for both their flexibility and athleticism.

"No," she stresses. "Nothing of the sort. I just said we're both fine."

"Had to ask. What is it?"

"We need to meet you. Where are you?"

Santana sighs in a way that Rachel knows means that her pledge of 'uteruses before duderuses' when they befriended each other is now thwarting her making out time, even though the duderuses part of that isn't true, but 'uteruses before uteruses' sounds stupid.

"Okay, you know that café near Washington Square Park that Rachel and I absolutely love? Be there in thirty minutes, and one of you better gets my coffee order right."

She hangs up immediately and Rachel is left staring at her disconnected phone.

"That was fun," she says.

"Thirty minutes, eh?" Quinn says, her tone already mischievous. "That leaves us with enough time to—"

"No. I just showered. And I'm not going to meet up with Santana looking like I just had sex." Quinn pouts at her, and if Quinn were in her own body, she'd find that completely irresistible. But she has practised that particular move enough times in the mirror to sway her dads, so it has absolutely no effect on herself—at least as long as Quinn's hands don't get anywhere near her. She decides to stand up, just in case. "Get up. It's a twenty-minute walk when we don't rush, that leaves us with enough time to get Santana's coffee so the beast isn't unleashed on us. Try thinking of a good way of how to explain this," here she motions between the two of them with her hand.

…

Twenty-nine minutes later Rachel and Quinn are sitting in the back of the café, their usual place, where it is decidedly quieter and less populated than in the front, three differently sized mugs in front of them.

"This is good coffee," Quinn hums, her fingers around the cup to warm them up, seeing as it is still a bit chilly outside.

Rachel looks at the size of the mug in trepidation, twisting her own cup of Soy Chai Tea Latte nervously between her hands. "My body won't be able to settle down until midnight, at least."

"That's what I'm counting on," Quinn smirks, taking a bite from the vegan cheesecake she'd gotten with her order. Rachel groans, which only makes Quinn giggle. "You should eat something, too. I have a lot of plans for you, later."

The bell above the door rings and in storms Santana, immediately finding them and making her way over to their table. She drinks from the third cup and sighs at the taste. "Thank you."

"No problem," Quinn says, and motions for Santana to sit down.

"Okay, so what is so important that you had to interrupt my celebration of the beginning of spring break? You both look like you did the same thing I did, why couldn't you leave me alone for today and just kept getting your freak on in private?"

Rachel sighs, her face solemn when she leans over the small table separating them. "I have no idea how to tell you this."

"Please tell me you don't want a threesome. I mean, I was expecting this request at one point, because who are we kidding, I'm smokin' hot. But by now you're more like sisters to me and it'd be really weird."

Quinn's eyes widen in surprise and Rachel's mouth falls open. "What? No!"

"That's good," Santana says, looking relieved. "Do you remember that hot bartender from yesterday? She's a handful, and I mean that in the sexiest way possible. And I was having such a great time with her until you called earlier. And if that had been only for you two virgins to ask for a threesome, I'd have kicked your ass from here to Brooklyn. Now, spit it out, what is it?"

Rachel tries to compose herself but is failing miserably, so Quinn intervenes.

"Rachel and I switched bodies," she says bluntly, eating another bite of her cheesecake slice.

Santana stares at her for a minute before she squints. "I know that I partied a lot last night and probably smoked some pot, but it's still March, right? Or is it already April 1st?"

"I'm completely serious," Quinn says.

"You gotta be joking me. Look, hobbit," she says, still addressing Quinn. "Is this revenge for me going through your closet the other day and threatening to burn your argyle?"

"No, she's serious," Rachel says, and Santana turns to look at 'Quinn'.

"You honestly want me to believe that you switched bodies and that you are Rachel now?" She asks, disbelief stark in her voice. "Yeah. Nice try. I'd sooner believe that I'm straight. Thank you for wasting my time, how about we don't do that again." She moves to stand up and Rachel reaches for her wrist, pulling her down again. "Hands off, Barbie."

"We're completely serious. Ask us something. Something only Quinn would now, or only I would know."

Santana sighs, probably asking herself if her friends hit their heads on their way home from the bar yesterday, but decides to mollify them. "Okay. Rachel," she turns to Quinn. "Who was my first time with?"

"With that gay boy from your high school because you both wanted to figure out if you're really gay or not, and there was no judgement that way," Rachel says, and Santana's head whips around to 'Quinn'.

"You told her?!" She hisses at 'Rachel,' who only raises one eyebrow at the story.

"I did absolutely nothing of the sort," Rachel insists, her hands on her hips. "I am perfectly capable of keeping my friends' life stories to myself, thank you very much."

"Is it my time now to tell you that Santana once told me that she had a crush on you at the very beginning?" 'Rachel' smirks, and Santana's eyes widen in horror.

"Oh god, it's true, you're Quinn," she whispers, her eyes darting back and forth between them.

"Are you going to pass out on us?" Quinn asks, sipping her coffee.

"Well, excuse me for hyperventilating at the bomb you guys just dropped on me," Santana growls, clutching her coffee cup as an anchor to reality. "How is this even possible."

"That's why we called you. Because we have absolutely no recollection of what happened yesterday evening after our first drinks."

"And you think I watched you the whole time? Shit, I'm not your keeper. I dealt with my own stuff, okay, I was getting my flirt on with the bartender."

"Okay, I can respect that," Quinn says. "But you have to at least remember _some_ things, because you only went after the bartender after your third drink or so. Any input at this point would be greatly appreciated."

Santana sighs, rubbing her temples with her fingers. "Okay, okay. So. I got us into the bar, ordered a round of shots for our group … Kurt and his boyfriend were there, too, I remember that. Then we had another round, you two started sucking faces and I decided to escape that vomit fest to dance." Santana squints, trying to remember the few hazy memories from last night. "I drank some more … uh. Huh. You guys were still making out by the time I came back from the bar. And I think that's when I decided to chat up the bartender. Did I mention how hot she is? Sexy little thing. I went home with her after her shift, we smoked some weed and then I think we did it all night long."

"Santana's sexual prowess aside," Rachel interrupts her friend, trying to block out the mental images of her best friend having sex. Having been accidentally flashed a few times in their dorm room is enough to last her a lifetime. "Do you know what happened to Kurt and Blaine last night?"

"I assume Lady Lips and Pretty Pony had a fabulous gay time. I'm, like, 99% sure it ended with them screwing. But maybe I'm just projecting. I didn't see them again after I went dancing. At least not that I can remember."

"Well, this was a complete and utter waste of my time," Quinn mutters, sipping the rest of her coffee. Rachel can see her leg bouncing in caffeinated energy and is both excited about and fearing what might happen as soon as they're alone in one of their dorm rooms again.

"Yeah, no shit, Blondie. You think this is how I wanted to spend my first day of Spring Break?"

Quinn scowls, but Rachel intervenes before any bloodshed can happen. She is rather fond of her face. "Okay, how about we go and visit Kurt, maybe he can bring some light into this darkness. Will you be joining us, Santana?"

"Hellz yeah. If only for the chance to hopefully see Richard Simmons faint."

…

They leave after Quinn almost force feeds her a bagel, but the bagel is enough to make Rachel's stomach churn when she knocks on Kurt's dorm room. He opens after a few seconds wearing a white, fluffy bathrobe, his face green from a slowly drying facemask.

"Well, well, well, to what do I owe this dubious honour of the Inquisition arriving on my doorstep?" He says when Santana shoves him aside, already making herself at home by raiding his fridge and lying across his couch with a takeout box.

"We have a problem," 'Quinn' says, walking past him and sitting down on one of the wooden kitchen chairs she dragged into the living room.

"Okay," he drawls, motioning for 'Rachel' to come in, too. "Please tell me it's not some artificially fabricated lesbian relationship drama, because I really can't deal with that today. I woke up with a headache from hell and what seemed to be cotton in my mouth. Can it wait until tomorrow?"

"It absolutely can't," 'Quinn' says, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Okay," he sighs. "What is it?"

"Rachel and I have switched bodies," 'Rachel' says, crossing her legs and leaning back on her chair, daring him to disagree.

Kurt's eyebrows rise on his forehead before he looks at Santana. "Is it already April 1st?"

Santana snorts, but keeps eating the leftover Chinese she found in the fridge. "That's what I thought, but it's actually legit. Although I'd advise you to not dare them to proof it by revealing embarrassing stories you told them. Unless you want me to know all about your dirty little secrets."

Kurt sits down heavily, only narrowly avoiding Santana's legs. He looks surprised, but not even close to fainting. Santana looks thoroughly disappointed at that. "And what do you expect me to do about this?"

"So far we're just trying to trace back our steps from last evening, because we have no idea what happened after our first few drinks," Rachel says, pulling a throw pillow on her lap to nervously play with the tassels.

Kurt frowns, his facemask cracking. "We had two rounds of shots, Santana went off to dance, I tried to talk with Blaine, but it was too loud for that. You two started making out, so Blaine and I decided to dance, too. We did that for a while, when we came back Santana was gone and Quinn decided to down her Long Island Iced Teas in one go. I think you were already on your third Margarita by then. Blaine and I got another round of shots for all of us before we migrated to the bar. As far as I remember you two kept on drinking and making out until Blaine and I eventually left and stumbled to his apartment. So I'd say nothing out of the ordinary happened."

Quinn hums, her fingers tapping against the wood of her chair. "I think our biggest problem is that everybody was drunk last night."

"You don't say," Santana says, setting the now empty takeout box down on the floor.

"Hey Santana, do you think that we could maybe ask your bartender girlfriend if she noticed something?" Rachel asks, seeing a thread of silver on the horizon and grasping it. "I mean, she is the only one we know who didn't get smashed last night because she had to work."

"Okay, first of all," Santana says, holding up one index finger for emphasis. "She's not my girlfriend. We are just having a good time. And second of all, I'm afraid that will end once she gets to know my weirdo friends."

"So your sex life is more important to you than your friends?" Quinn growls, ready to strangle her.

Santana sighs, deeply and with disdain. "'course not."

…

They pile out of the subway like they were in a clown car, almost walking in single file after Santana like a family of ducks. Blaine joins them as soon as they get out of the station, having been called earlier by Kurt, and Santana throws her arms in the air, muttering about her friends twat-swatting her. Soon after they reach a building and Santana pushes the buzzer.

"Yes?" The female voice is tinny through the intercom and Santana sighs.

"Hey, it's me. Uhm, remember how I had to go earlier because my friends had an emergency?"

"… Yes?"

"Turns out we need your help. Can we come in?"

There is a pause on the other side, but then the front door audibly opens and Santana holds the door open for her friends before leading them up multiple flights of stairs and then down a corridor. An Asian looking woman in sweatpants and a tanktop, showing off her tattooed arms and with her long black hair with blue streaks in a ponytail, leans in an open doorway, looking thoroughly unimpressed at the group of friends standing in front of her apartment. Maybe Rachel needs to rethink her Chinese restaurant theory. But then again, the woman seems to be in her mid-twenties and not that much older than them.

"Hey Tina," Santana says meekly, waving awkwardly with one hand.

Tina arches one eyebrow. "All right, what's going on here?"

"I apologise in advance," Rachel says, nervously smoothing her dress down. "I realise that this is an unusual request, seeing as you don't know any of us, except Santana. But we were hoping that you could maybe shed a little light on what happened last night."

"What happened last night," Tina says, visibly confused. "What _did_ happen last night?"

"Uhm, can we come in, please?" Rachel asks, not comfortable discussing this in an open hallway. What if someone sees them and jeopardises her future Broadway career because they think she's a lunatic?

Tina sighs but steps inside, muttering something about "damn college kids" under her breath. She plops down on an old couch, wiggling to get comfortable. Kurt looks ready to faint, not sure if he should sit down on the armchair that has some peculiar looking stains or not.

"All right, shoot."

"My name is Rachel Berry, and I have switched bodies with my girlfriend over there," Rachel says, pointing at Quinn.

Tina stares blankly at her before she finally addresses Santana. "Is she serious?"

"Like a heart attack."

"And you believe that I have something to do with this?" Tina asks Rachel incredulously. "That's some pretty awful racist stereotyping."

Santana winces, probably already seeing her future 'good times' flying out of a window if Rachel is left to lead the conversation, so she cuts in. "Nobody is saying that. But we were all wasted last night and we need someone who was definitely sober to recollect the evening."

Tina seems placated with that answer, but is still a little miffed. "The place was crowded for most of the night, you expect me to keep track of every patron?"

Santana looks at her pleadingly, to just give her a break, and Tina sighs.

"All right, okay. Let's see. Santana ordered two shot rounds first, correct?"

"Yes," Kurt says, finally sitting down, but only on the edge of the seat. Blaine doesn't have as many reservations as his boyfriend and sits down on the arm of the chair, smiling down at him. "Then we, and by we I mean everyone except Rachel and Quinn, danced for a bit. Then there was more drinking involved. I remember that Blaine and I migrated to the bar at one point and that we left … before midnight?" He asks, tilting his head back to look at his boyfriend.

"I think so," Blaine shrugs, looking at Tina.

"Yeah, I think you two left around midnight. I remember Santana whining about how only having couples as friends is killing her groove and making her envious."

All eyes snap to Santana. "I was drunk!" She defends herself.

"Children and fools tell the truth," Quinn says, smirking at her friend. "Jealous?"

"Of the old ball and chain? As if. You can play house with Barbra Streisand all you like, Q, but I have bigger and better fish to fry."

"Stop it," Rachel intervenes, tired of the two of them bickering all the time, and also just plain tired of the day she had. "Please continue, Tina."

Tina hums, eyebrows in a deep frown. "I actually think the two of you didn't leave that much later, to be honest. Santana was spending her evening at the bar, occasionally going back to check on the two of you, but at one point she said you had left." Tina shrugs. "Doesn't seem like something out of the ordinary happened, if you ask me."

Rachel exhales shakily, tears pooling in her eyes and Quinn is by her side in a flash, cupping her face tenderly while Santana is just muttering 'Shit shit shit' in the background, unsure of what to do.

"Hey, come on, why are you crying?" Her girlfriend says soothingly, wrapping her arms around Rachel once the tears fall. "There's no need to cry," Quinn whispers into her ear, peppering every inch she can reach with kisses, while swaying her girlfriend to and fro. "You know that I'll start crying when you cry. So we'll be quite the pair." She tries to be lax and humorous about it, but Rachel can already see her eyes glazing over.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says, trying to compose herself. "It wasn't my intention to make a scene." It really wasn't. But it seems that nobody has an idea what happened to them, or how, and while being in Quinn's body, literally, is fun for a day or maybe two, she doesn't want it to be for her whole life.

"Sweetie, you aren't making a scene," Kurt says as he stands up, one hand on her shoulder to offer comfort. "It's understandable that this bothers you. I mean, I still can't totally believe that someone or something apparently did some mumbo jumbo voodoo and you two switched bodies, I can't even imagine how you must feel."

"What if we never change back?" Rachel whimpers into the crook of Quinn's neck.

"No, hey, where is that Rachel Barbra Berry Optimism, patent pending? We'll figure something out."

"Wait," Tina says, suddenly sitting upright on the couch. "Say that again."

"Uhm," Quinn says, looking unsure.

"No, not you," Tina says, pointing at Kurt. "You."

"I … Can't even imagine how they must feel?"

"Before that."

"… Mumbo jumbo voodoo?"

Tina practically leaps from the sofa, stepping closer to Santana. "We got baked last night, am I remembering that correctly?"

"Yeah?" Santana says, looking unsure. "At least the apartment smelled like what I imagine Amsterdam smells like in certain areas." A blissful smile is on her face at the memory.

"Didn't we read a book?" Tina says, trying to remember.

"Who gets high and reads a book?" Blaine asks, genuinely curious. Santana ignores him.

"Maybe? Look, I really don't remember. I was drunk last night. Add weed to that and I have absolutely no idea what happened. For all I know I could've coloured colouring books all night."

Tina hums and steps into what appears to be her bedroom, arriving with a small box moments later.

"What's that?" Kurt asks, his nose wrinkling at the sweet smell.

"It's a box of family memorabilia. I was wondering why that was out when Santana left earlier," Tina says, setting the box down on the small coffee table. She opens it and it's becoming clear that the smell is coming from a small, leather bound book lying on the top.

"Jeez, what did you do, invite the book to smoke with you?" Kurt says, waving one hand in front of his face to get some fresh air.

"It's called living the life, Lady Gaygay. Not all of us want to spend our evenings pondering the merits of using a dozen different hand creams."

Kurt scowls at her, but before he can get really into it Blaine asks, "What book is that?" and their attention immediately swivels back to Tina.

"It's a family heirloom. My grandma once told me that it has been in the family for at least since her grandma was around, so, you know, a while."

"That's pretty cool," Blaine smiles.

"Yeah, but what's _in it_?" Kurt stresses. "I'm just guessing here, but if it wasn't relevant to Rachel and Quinn's plight you wouldn't have gotten it out and showed us."

Tina rolls her eyes. "I'm not pretending to know all the answers here or trying to be super mysterious. It has always been a family heirloom to me and I never gave it much thought. But it looks like the only thing out of the ordinary in this whole scenario, so it's worth a shot, don't you think?"

Rachel nods rapidly and kneels down on the other side of the coffee table, leaning closer to get a better look. Quinn sits down cross-legged next to her, watching Tina open the leather strings that keep the book closed.

"So what is that, like a diary or something?"

"Well, I always thought of it more like a cookbook, but yeah, there's some personal stuff in this too. And, like, popular folklore, or something. So maybe more like a stream-of-consciousness kinda thing from an ancestor."

"What language is that?" Kurt asks, squinting at what looks like childish scribble on the pages, accompanied by a few drawings.

"It's Korean. My family moved to the States before the Great Depression."

"Huh. Can you read it?"

Tina winces. "Not very good, although my grandma tried to teach it to me my whole life."

"But we don't want a recipe for Chicken Pad Thai, so what does it matter?" Santana asks. "And we certainly didn't cook last night. I'd have remembered that. The few times I tried to cook while stoned I almost burned down the buildings I was in."

Tina chuckles. "Okay, so this sounds really kitschy, and perpetuates stereotypes I don't want to be associated with, but my grandma always said that there is magic in this book."

"Believe me, I have heard weirder things today," Kurt says dryly, sitting down next to Tina on the couch. "So what, this is your family's 'Book of Shadows'?"

"Apparently," Tina sighs, flipping through the pages. "But I have absolutely no idea where to start."

"Gimme that," Santana exclaims, grabbing the book out of Tina's hands. She goes through the pages, before she stops, handing the book back to Tina. "I think this is the one. I have absolutely no idea how I remember that, but the drawing looks familiar. Please tell me it is just a recipe for stew."

Tina squints at the page. "Well, it's not a recipe, that's for sure. But some of it is smudged … and whoever wrote this had the worst handwriting ever. Give me a minute," she says, getting up to get a notepad and a pen.

Rachel's fingers tap against the wood of the table nervously and Quinn reaches for her hand to calm her down. "Hey," Quinn whispers, smiling.

Rachel's smile is timid, but she smiles back nonetheless. "Hey."

"Man, I really need a haircut."

The comment is so hilariously unrelated to everything else that is happening around them—Tina murmuring something in a mix of Korean and English under her breath, Santana tapping her right foot against the floor while also staring longingly at Tina's bedroom, Blaine and Kurt trying to help Tina (with little success, but still)—that it makes Rachel bark out a laugh.

"God, me too. I should really retire the bangs," she says, leaning forward to rest her forehead against Quinn's.

"Maybe we should get matching haircuts," her girlfriend says, a big smile on her face.

Rachel arches one eyebrow. (And boy, does that seem to be incredibly easier than in her own body.) "How about no."

Quinn pouts. "Matching tattoos?"

"Now I know that you're just trying to pull my leg," Rachel deadpans, a smile threatening to lift the corners of her mouth.

"Made you smile, didn't it?" Quinn grins.

"You're an idiot," Rachel says with a smile, lightly shoving her girlfriend's shoulder away.

"Your idiot, though."

"You two make me want to gag," Santana says from her place near a bookshelf, thumbing through a book. Rachel squints to see the title, but Santana is holding it at an angle that won't allow her to see.

"Yeah yeah yeah," Quinn says, waving a hand. "You'll sing this tune until you have your own girlfriend."

"Au contraire," Santana says, sliding the book back in place and—Rachel's face heats up when she sees that it is 'The Whole Lesbian Sex Book'—turning around to face them. "One: I'm not boring like you two. And two: Auntie Snixx can't be tied down. I have needs that need to be met."

"That's something that's especially hilarious, considering that you apparently did a 'True Love' spell last night," Tina snorts before she breaks out into laughter, infecting Blaine and Kurt with it.

"What?" Santana squeaks—_squeaks_—and Quinn presses her lips together to not join the giggle-fest when Santana scrambles to the couch to get a look at whatever Tina wrote down in English.

"Yeah, wow, you had me fooled for a second there, Santana."

"Shut up. I did what? I can't even read Chinese!"

"Korean," Tina giggles, trying to calm herself down. "And apparently my Korean knowledge is awesome when I'm high, but not completely infallible. I helped you, but I also think we were both distracted, that's why the spell was basically shit and somehow reflected onto Quinn and Rachel, or whatever."

Santana looks flushed and grits her teeth, handing the notepad back to Tina.

"Okay, but how do we make it go away?" Rachel asks, trying to keep her own laughter at bay. She's glad that they have gotten to the bottom of this, but now she would love to know how to get out of this mess. Her earlier breakdown seems all but forgotten.

Tina hums, looking over her notes. "It says something about the usual kitschy true love bullshit, but I'm fairly certain that there is something like a security clause in this, too. You two should be back to normal in a day or two, probably tomorrow, end of the week at the most."

"Are you absolutely certain?" Quinn inquires, not wanting to relive a breakdown from her girlfriend at the end of the week.

"Yeah. I mean, it's a spell, so therefore the whole concept in itself is fairly stupid, but whoever wrote it was smart enough to not make it last forever, should it ever be used."

"Thank you," Rachel breathes, "You have no idea how much you helped us."

"I have a vague idea," Tina muses at the obvious relief on both of their faces. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, thank you, you did plenty. I think we'll be going now," Quinn says, helping Rachel up. "Kurt? Blaine? Santana?"

"It was a dubious pleasure meeting you, Tina," Kurt says, shaking her hand. "A pleasure, but dubious nonetheless, considering the circumstances."

Blaine shakes his head in fond exasperation, before saying good bye to Tina and following his friends out of the apartment. He turns around before stepping out into the hallway. "Santana, are you coming?"

"Hopefully I will be in about twenty minutes. Scram, Wonder Twin."

He closes the front door in a rush when he sees Santana simultaneously unbuttoning her blouse with one hand while shoving her jeans down with the other, Tina pulling her own top off.

"She has a lot of chutzpah for being the one responsible for this in the first place," Rachel mutters, making her way down the hallway.

Quinn smirks, leaning closer so that only her girlfriend will hear. "Did I ever tell you that your random use of Yiddish really turns me on?" She purrs into her ear.

Rachel blushes, and due to Quinn's light skin tone it's fairly obvious to Kurt and Blaine that Quinn must've said something scandalous.

"I don't even want to know," he says, quickening his steps so he can walk down the stairs in front of them. "Now that this weird little adventure is over, I'm going back to my dorm room to forget it ever happened. Will you be accompanying me, Blaine?"

Blaine says yes and after they are back outside again they wave at Rachel and Quinn before walking in a different direction than the one they came from earlier. So, obviously not Kurt's dorm room but Blaine's apartment, then. Fewer roommates to potentially complain about the noise.

"So," Rachel drawls, wriggling her hand into Quinn's jacket pocket to hold hands with her. "That was fun. Except for the traumatising parts."

"I'm just glad that it's all going to be over relatively soon."

"You don't enjoy being in my body?" Rachel almost sounds offended. She worked hard to get that body, genetic predispositions aside.

"Oh, I do. But not necessarily in _this_ way," Quinn smirks, making Rachel blush again. "Your dorm room is unoccupied, you know."

Rachel moans softly when Quinn pulls her nearer and nips on the skin at the hollow of her throat. "But it's so far away. And the bed is tiny."

"I wonder if this is a reasonable and good excuse to use that emergency credit card your dads gave you for a hotel room," Quinn ponders, her fingers playing with the front buttons of Rachel's dress.

It totally is. Her dads would understand, if she ever intended to tell them.

…

They stumble into the hotel room after giving the guy at the reception all the information he needed to give them a room. He looked a bit dubious at first, the two of them being two young women without any luggage, but it soon changed to a leer that still doesn't sit right with Rachel. But whatever, who cares about the receptionist? Quinn is kissing her with a passion that nearly puts everything they did this morning to shame and Rachel is one hundred percent sure that she's about to have a magnificent night, while the receptionist is stuck behind that desk for the rest of it. She almost feels pity for him. Almost.

The lock clicks into place behind them and it's like that is the go-ahead Quinn needed to rid Rachel of her clothing. Her girlfriend's dominant side is both sexy and intimidating, but right now Rachel's arousal wins out and she is incredibly relieved that Quinn made her eat that bagel earlier; calling room service sounds like an activity they should leave for another time. Maybe later, after round three. Or maybe there's a mini-bar?

Quinn makes quick work of her own jacket and black-with-little-white-polka dots dress she put on earlier, standing in front of Rachel in only her underwear. Rachel didn't even know that she owned this particular kind of lacy lingerie.

"I don't remember buying that," Rachel says between kisses before she ventures lower on her jawline, sucking at the skin just below her ear. Quinn's grip tightens in the material of Rachel's dress, pulling her even closer, and begins to open the buttons again. This feels a lot like how they started this day, and since they found a solution for their problem Rachel has absolutely no problem with indulging her girlfriend; so she helps her undress herself to end this day just as pleasurable as it began, her dress pooling on the floor. (Minor panic attack not included in this revision.)

"I did," Quinn moans at a particularly hard nip on her throat.

"We've been together all day," Rachel says, lifting her head to stare at her girlfriend.

"I have many skills," Quinn smirks, pulling her closer by her neck to crash their lips together again.

"Including the skill of time travel?" Rachel pants out, struggling to concentrate on ridding Quinn off her bra.

"You'll just have to stick around and see," she says, pushing Rachel's compression shorts down her legs.

They stumble onto the bed; the shorts awkwardly trap Rachel's legs and Quinn's bra is hanging off her shoulders.

"I still think this is completely narcissistic," Rachel says, reaching back to open her own bra before finally pushing the shorts off. Quinn hums, discarding her bra to the floor.

"But also kinda hot."

"Unfortunately," Rachel agrees, starting to grind against her girlfriend.

"You still think too much about this," Quinn says, manoeuvring them in a way that makes Rachel sit up, her legs over the edge of the bed, with Quinn sitting in her lap, legs firmly wrapped around Rachel's middle. She slides the straps of Rachel's bra down her shoulders before tugging it off and she kisses her again. Rachel moans when their breasts are pushed together, and also because her girlfriend started grinding against her.

And why are they still wearing underwear? Unacceptable.

"Take it off," Rachel pants, snapping the waistband of the hipster briefs against Quinn's hip.

"I don't wanna get up," Quinn groans, rolling her hips against a hard-on that feels completely uncomfortable by now.

"I swear to god, I'm going to rip them off if you don't take them off."

"Knock yourself out."

"But they're so pretty," Rachel whines.

"I'll buy you new ones."

"But they probably won't match the bra."

"_Rachel_," Quinn growls into her ear, her teeth tugging at the lobe. "Either rip them off or find a way to work around them. I'll buy you a whole damn new set."

"They're hip-hugger briefs, there is no way to comfortably work around them. And it would also mean that one of us has to go commando tomorrow."

"I'm beginning to think that you just want to be difficult. I can totally go away and do something else, if you want to and you are too busy."

"Fine," Rachel huffs, beginning to tug at the fabric.

Only, nothing happens for a long time.

"Do I need to get some scissors?" Quinn smirks down at her, continuing to roll her hips against Rachel's little problem that is trapped between them.

Rachel scowls, because it's so obvious that Quinn wants to distract her and rile her up, but she finds a starting point in the lace eventually and, well, no harm done, because apparently the panties were already ruined before, judging by the wetness of them. It's still a lot of work to get them completely off Quinn, but the quiet little moans that leave her throat whenever she moves against her in a certain way are a great distraction.

"Finally," Quinn sighs.

"I don't remember you helping one bit to move this thing along."

Quinn smirks, her hands already in the waistband of Rachel's boxer briefs. She lifts herself just enough to wrestle them off Rachel, as far as her knees. "I helped just now," she says, allowing them to grind together without any barriers, at last, Rachel's hands guiding her hips along.

"Uhuh." Concentrating on anything gets decidedly more difficult once Quinn picks up the pace and all Rachel can think about how warm and wet her girlfriend is against her, how she loves the way Quinn is gently scratching the back of her neck, how perfectly their breasts are pressed together and, okay, they're probably a bitch to cover up later, but she really isn't going to start to complain about the hickeys Quinn leaves in her wake.

The grinding, however, has to stop. If only because it's getting them nowhere right now. At least not where Rachel wants to go. And boy, does she want to go there.

"Quinn," she says shakily, "Can I—"

"Yes," Quinn mumbles into her neck, licking over the mark she just left, her free hand between them to softly tug at Rachel's nipple while the other hand is buried in short blonde hair.

Rachel manages to keep Quinn's hips just far away enough to get a hold on her cock, almost drenched by now, and begins to slowly guide it inside her girlfriend. A guttural moan leaves Quinn's lips while Rachel's face changes into a blissful smile. She wants to savour the moment, she really does, because who knows how much time she has left to feel everything her girlfriend feels whenever they have sex, but Quinn already starts rolling her hips in small circles.

"Are you getting a move on any time soon?"

Rachel huffs. "You're ruining the moment."

"Is that so?" Quinn smirks deviously at her, and before Rachel can respond the clenching of certain muscles as well as Quinn rocking her hips again takes her breath away.

"That's not fair," she breathes, grabbing Quinn's ass in an attempt to get at least a little bit of control back. A futile attempt.

"All's fair in love and war," her girlfriend grins and her soft kiss belies the frantic movements that are happening further down.

"Did you learn that in your philosophy class?" Rachel pants, already feeling the coil in her stomach beginning to tighten. She buries her face between Quinn's breasts, kissing and sucking on the skin in her reach.

"Maybe," Quinn rasps out, shuddering when one of Rachel's hands leaves her ass and rubs her clit instead.

"I'm not going to last long," Rachel warns, intensifying her ministrations.

"Ditto." Quinn's stomach clenches every time Rachel manages to peak down to where their bodies are connected, and she knows from experience that her body is only a few thrusts away from—

Quinn moans softly when she comes around Rachel, her thighs keeping her in a vise-like grip and the fluttering around Rachel's cock has her holding on for dear life, joining Quinn in orgasmic bliss shortly after. Rachel sags backwards onto the bed, keeping her firm grip on her girlfriend. They both pant frantically and are exhausted, but not completely spent yet, even though this isn't round one, technically, but more like round twelve.

"God, I love you," Rachel wheezes out, lightly stroking Quinn's back. "You're so beautiful."

Quinn snorts. "Wow, that doesn't sound narcissistic at all," she says, biting Rachel's shoulder playfully. "I love you, too."

"Shut up, you know what I meant," Rachel says, tickling Quinn's ribcage, making her squirm on top of her and okay, wow, her cock is certainly enjoying the movements. "I have no idea why I love you. Your pillow talk certainly leaves a lot to be desired."

"Like you're one to talk," Quinn grins cheekily, moving to get off of Rachel. Her penis slides out of her and Rachel thinks that it's almost ridiculous that she's already half-hard again when she sees their combined wetness sliding down Quinn's thighs. Rachel arches one eyebrow in question as soon as Quinn is standing next to the bed and moves around her.

"Where are you going?" Rachel asks, rolling on her side to keep track of her girlfriend.

"We paid for a full bed and check-out is at ten. I'll be damned if we'll only sit on the edge of a king-sized bed for the whole time," she says, settling down on her back in the middle of the bed, wiggling to get comfortable. "I fully intend to make good use of the remaining," she trails off, looking at the red numbers of a radio clock on the nightstand. "Fourteen hours. And I also fully intend to have the experience of multiple orgasms again," Quinn smirks, one hand already gliding down a twitching stomach and Rachel's throat dries up when she reaches coarse hair and Quinn emits a sigh when her fingers dip lower.

"You're going to be the death of me," Rachel whimpers, looking down at her erection that is definitely ready to go again.

"But what a way to go."

…

Rachel moans when the alarm rings in her ears and sunlight hits her face, and she regrets not getting up after their last round to close the blinds. But at that point it was already six in the morning and their energy only lasted enough to set an alarm for nine, so that they could hopefully get up in time to take a quick shower before check-out and don't look like the walking dead. She only barely convinced Quinn to take short breaks to fight dehydration. Good, even so, she feels sucked dry.

Unbidden thoughts assault her mind of the things they'd done the night before, with Quinn on her knees and various other positions, and it makes Rachel's stomach clench. She blindly reaches down underneath the covers, because if she has to deal with morning wood she'd rather do it now while Quinn is still asleep next to her—that girl could sleep through a bomb going off—before they'll never make it to check-out on time because Quinn distracted her again.

Only, there's nothing there.

Her eyes widen and she scrambles to push the covers off, relieved to find that she is in her own body again.

"Quinn," she stage-whispers, excitement rolling off of her in waves when she turns to her girlfriend. "Quinn, wake up!"

"I don't wanna dance for the spiders," Quinn whines, pulling the covers closer to her as she hides her face in her pillow.

Rachel is amused, if only because they don't have the opportunity for "sleepovers" often, not that she wouldn't mind making those a regular occurrence, and the few times they had them it always ended with Quinn dreaming the weirdest stuff right before she wakes up. Rachel grins mischievously and slides closer to her girlfriend underneath the covers, settling right behind her. She trails her right hand softly along the contour of Quinn's body before veering towards her groin once she reaches her hip. Almost predictably her girlfriend's cock is already alert and Rachel smirks when she makes a loose fist around it, gently moving it up and down and her thumb swiping against the tip every now and then.

"Baby," Rachel purrs into Quinn's ear, kissing her shoulder and moving around so that her left hand, previously trapped between herself and the mattress, is now gently going through her girlfriend's hair, softly scratching her scalp.

Quinn only grunts in response, still in that wonderful state of no longer completely asleep but not awake yet either. Rachel lets her penis go and reaches down to her own folds, still wet and dripping from what they did until the wee hours of the morning. There is absolutely nothing dry about _this_ body. Her hand is suitably wet once she grasps Quinn's shaft again and gives it a sharp tug, making Quinn gasp, her eyes fluttering open in surprise.

"Guess what happened over night," Rachel says, roughly grabbing her hair and biting the place where Quinn's neck meets her shoulder while her hand continues to jerk her girlfriend off. Rachel has paid extremely close attention yesterday and so it's no surprise that Quinn comes into her fist before she has a chance, or is in the right state of mind, to answer.

"I have half a mind to prolong our stay in this absolutely lovely hotel," Rachel murmurs, nibbling at Quinn's ear, still pumping the other girl's cock to help her ride out her orgasm.

"I love spring break," Quinn breathes out, trying to get her breathing back under control, Rachel already up and calling the front desk before hanging a "Do not disturb" sign on the doorknob outside.

Rachel's dads were young once. They'll just have to understand.


End file.
